


Tabled

by CongressIsAliens



Series: Perryshmirtz Week 2020 [1]
Category: Phineas and Ferb
Genre: (It'll make sense later), Canon-Typical Violence, Human Perry the Platypus (Phineas and Ferb), Is there a tag for that?, M/M, Mission Fic, POV Second Person, Perryshmirtz Week 2020, The "Oh Shit I Like Him" Moment, get stickbugged lol, somebody tell me if there's a tag for that, sorta?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:07:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27046216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CongressIsAliens/pseuds/CongressIsAliens
Summary: In all of your days as a secret agent, you've never seen a backstory create itself in front of your eyes.So it's your job to stop it before it can start, just to keep it from becoming evil fuel.(And because you care about your nemesis. That too.)
Relationships: Heinz Doofenshmirtz/Perry the Platypus
Series: Perryshmirtz Week 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1974490
Comments: 18
Kudos: 117
Collections: Perryshmirtz Week 2020





	Tabled

**Author's Note:**

> Perryshmirtz Week Day 1: Backstory/ ~~First Meeting~~
> 
> TW: Brief knife mentions

You drop into the lab of Doofenshmirtz Evil, Incorporated, doing your best to avoid landing on a pile of blueprints. Stepping forwards, you trigger a tripwire, causing a cage to snap up around you. 

Just like normal. Another day in the life. 

Except the cage is a rather small one, so it just bashes the heck out of your shins as it comes up. You jump out of the way while the cage finishes closing, hissing in pain and trying not to think about how bad of a bruise that’s going to leave. 

At least you can spin these ones into something like “tripped over the planter outside the library”. (You’ve done that before, it’s about as pleasant.)

“Ah, Perry the Platypus, how surprising! And by surprising, I mean completely unsur-” Dr. Doofenshmirtz pauses, mid ramble. “Wait a minute, you’re not trapped.”

Well, no, of course you’re not. The cage sitting on the ground next to you is sized more for an _actual_ semi-aquatic mammal, not an adult human with a strange codename. 

“See, I _knew_ ordering traps online was a bad idea.” He sighs. “I don’t have a backup today, so can you just _act_ trapped?”

You nod. Your shins are still smarting, so you decide to just sit next to the trap. It really doesn't look that sturdy anyway, even a _real_ platypus could bend those bars.

“Anyway, Perry the Platypus,” Doofenshmirtz continues, “when I was a small boy in Gimmelshtump…”

Another backstory. How many have you heard by now? He’s told you so much, how many are left? It makes you wonder, has he ever told another person everything he tells you? Does he even trust anybody else?

Does he realize you _care,_ writing down every single detail in a notebook after you're done with your mission? Or does he just assume that since you don’t speak, you don’t listen either? (That certainly wouldn't be a new assumption to you.)

“...our kitchen table only had three legs,” he says, and you snap back to the present. “Actually, a lot of things only had three legs in Gimmelshtump, but the table was supposed to have four. So I was the fourth leg whenever we needed the table. And let me tell you, Perry the Platypus, it was _hard work._ ”

He grumbles. “I swear, Mother’s dishes were made of _lead_.” He stops and considers something. “That’s probably why I slouch, huh?"

The more you hear about Heinz's parents, the more you dislike them. 

"Anyway, they’d stay up after dinner playing cards sometimes, and if the table moved at all, I got extra lawn gnome duty. It’s not even fair, since _Roger_ was the one that broke the table.”

Briefly, you wonder if that incident involved a kickball. It would make sense, with how much of his mother’s love was 'inexplicably linked to kickball'. 

That was a rather entertaining song, if you do say so yourself. One of his better ones. He's really starting to find his groove.

You've been trying to gently steer him away from evil for a while yet. Maybe you could veer him towards musical theater. He'd be good at it. Then you could even devote your full attention to his performances, instead of having to think about how you'll escape his traps. 

Dr. Doofenshmirtz pulls away a large tarp, revealing an -inator, complete with a cherry-red self destruction. “Behold, the leg-break-inator!” He pats the side of the -inator. “With this, I will break every single leg on Roger’s furniture! And then I’ll be the ruler of the entire _Tri-State Area!_ ”

“What,” he says when he catches a glimpse of your unimpressed expression, “it’s really going to be a simple transition of power. Nobody is going to want a mayor with all broken furniture, see?”

You can’t see it, but you still motion for him to go on. Despite what you might outwardly say, you do enjoy his schemes. The way his eyes light up, the way _nothing_ can get in his way (except maybe you, but that's a different story). 

“I would have had a song,” he says, “but I couldn’t think of anything that rhymes with _Roger_.” You raise an eyebrow. “Seriously, you try thinking of something that rhymes with Roger, see how well _you_ do.”

Codger, dodger...okay, yeah, he has a point, because that’s all you can think of. 

He turns to the -inator, and you jump up. Time to thwart him, just like always. You nail him with a flying kick (which you immediately regret, since your shins hurt even _worse_ now), sending him tumbling onto the ground away from the -inator. 

“Ha!” He laughs, pulling a video game controller out of the pocket of his lab coat.

You did _not_ see that coming. Mostly because that pocket certainly _looked_ empty earlier. 

Eh, it’s not that weird. You pull random objects out of your hat all the time, including your jetpack. His lab coat must have similar strange properties.

“I can control it with _this_!” Heinz crows, holding the controller aloft, and you run at him. He presses a few buttons on the controller as he backs away from you, but nothing happens. 

You stop running. Obviously, that controller isn’t working, so you might as well go for the -inator. You snicker to yourself as you watch him fuss with the controller, casually backing towards the -inator. His expression gets more and more frustrated, until understanding dawns on him. 

“This is _Vanessa’s_ controller,” he says to himself. “And she took hers back to her mothers...which means she took mine.” He huffs and drops the controller. "Fine, then I'll do it the _normal_ way."

The -inator spins all of a sudden, whirling around at a speed too fast for you to safely stop, before it stops suddenly, points right at the mayor’s mansion, and fires.

“Huh,” Heinz says, staring at the -inator, which promptly explodes. 

Damn it. _You_ wanted to do that. 

And you’ve failed your mission, although it’s not exactly your fault. Technically, you failed to thwart _Vanessa_. 

Since she's a minor, that’s out of your control. Thankfully, your track record is good enough to take this hit. 

Heinz sighs. “Hey, at least I hit the Mayor’s office.” 

Then his face lights up. “I hit the Mayor’s office! I won!”

He looks so happy that you practically feel like you did the right thing. Even though it’s evil. 

Actually, scratch that. It’s just petty. And Roger is annoying, you’ll admit that. He can afford to fix his own damn furniture.

Maybe he’ll spend less money on campaigning in off years. If anything is evil, _that_ is. 

Steps sound on the stairs. Heavy steps. You turn to see who it is. You’re highly doubtful that it’s one of your superiors, but OWCA is nothing if not quick to punish. (Training was...not fun.) 

Fortunately for you, it’s not an OWCA official. 

Unfortunately for Heinz, it’s Mrs. Doofenshmirtz. (His mother, not Charlene, although both women could and _would_ cause Heinz to pale at the sight of them storming into the lab.)

What’s she doing here?

“Mother? What are you doing here?” Heinz asks, echoing your thoughts. 

“I just came to ask you a _favor_ ,” she says, her voice so sickeningly sweet it almost gives you a stomach ache. 

“What is it?” Heinz asks. 

“Roger’s desk is missing its fourth leg, which means my sweety-pumpkin can’t work."

Can't work, your _ass_. You've done paperwork on the back of a horse before. Roger can suck it up and put a couple dictionaries where the desk leg was. 

"So," Heinz's mother says, "I came to ask _you_ to be the fourth leg. Just like back in Gimmelshtump, remember?” She bats her eyes.

You knew she was manipulative from Heinz’s backstories, but you hadn’t quite realized how bad it was. With the way she’s smiling, you can suddenly see why Heinz hadn’t questioned anything she said when he was younger. 

Heinz looks over at you. Thankfully, it seems like his mother hasn’t seen you yet, so you punch your empty hand a couple times, then point at her. 

He shakes his head, clearly disapproving of your main method of conflict resolution. (What? It’s _effective_.)

“Are you sure, Mother?” Heinz asks, and you hate how he hesitant he looks.

“Of course,” she says. “Now, come along, we don’t want to make Roger wait, now do we?”

“ _Ac_ tually, I’m fine with making him wait,” Heinz says, shrugging, and you’re suddenly immensely proud of him for standing up to his mother. The wicked witch of his backstory, and here Heinz is, standing proud with a bucket of water in his hands.

Unfortunately, the witch seems to still have the upper hand, since Mrs. Doofenshmirtz reaches out and slaps Heinz full across the face. She starts to yell at Heinz in German, but you can’t hear it anymore. 

Your vision is practically tinted red. _Nobody_ treats your nemesis like that. _You’re_ the only one allowed to hurt him, and only with cartoonish physical violence. Not this- this _abuse_. Looking around the lab, your gaze falls on a painting of a stick bug, about the size of...a medium sized painting? You can’t think of any comparisons right now, not when there’s _revenge_ to be had. 

It’s not one of Heinz’s paintings, since his usual loopy signature is nowhere to be seen. The style isn’t even close to what he usually does anyway.

And to be honest, it’s kind of ugly, so you really don’t feel bad about what you’re about to do. 

You clear your throat to get the attention of-oh, what was her name? Helga? Heinz has told you, but you can’t remember. 

Either way, you don’t care. There are more important things to worry about.

She looks over, and that’s her downfall. You run, propel yourself up using the trap, and bring the canvas down right over her head, so she’s now wearing the painting like a collar.

Get stickbugged, lady. 

She sputters something, but you brush it off, pushing her towards the door. 

“I will not tolerate this,” she says, pointing towards you, the canvas still around her neck. “This is _assault_.”

You raise one eyebrow, not phased in the slightest. It’s nothing worse than what she did to her own _son_. Besides, you're certain OWCA will take your side on this one. Especially if you frame it as 'preventing future backstories'. 

She seems to take offense at your nonchalance, storming towards you. Steam practically pours out her ears, her face flush with anger.

It’s easy to sidestep her, so you do, pulling the knife from the sheath on your wrist at the same time. 

Her eyes go wide once she sees the blade, gleaming in the light. Obviously you’re not going to _use_ it, you could disable her with both hands tied behind your back and blindfolded, but she doesn’t need to know that.

And hey, who said a bit of threatening isn’t fun? You've got to have _some_ way of amusing yourself on the job.

You gesture towards the door with the knife, pointedly glaring at her. Somewhere behind you, Heinz whimpers in pain from the slap.

Thankfully, she gets the message, scurrying back down the stairs to leave. 

You sheath the knife with one fluid (and flashy, because you can’t resist showing off a _little_ ) motion. Heinz’s eyes are wide, even as he cradles his cheek. 

“Do you _always_ have that knife there?” he asks, as if that’s the most important question.

You nod as you pry his hands away from his cheek, checking for any serious injuries. It’s required at your rank, along with the one on your hip and the one at your calf. 

Thankfully, he seems to be mostly unharmed. There's going to be a crimson handprint on his cheek for a little while, but there's no lasting damage.

Your hands linger on his cheeks (perhaps a touch too long if the newfound heat in the tips of your ears is any indication), hoping to convey how proud you are of him for standing up to his backstory. 

His smile softens a bit, to that soft expression you could swear is just for you, and you have to pull your hands away before you do anything completely reckless.

“Huh,” Heinz says, walking over to examine the ashes of his -inator. “I didn’t think you had it in you to _threaten my mother_ like that. Or...hit her with a painting.” He pauses. “Thanks for that, though, that painting was _ugly_.”

So was she. And you know what they say, two ugly things don’t make something beautiful, but they _do_ make some sweet, sweet, comeuppance.

You sign that she deserved it, and Heinz smiles. Almost as if by reflex, you smile too. 

Dammit, you're screwed. 

“Thank you, Perry the Platypus,” Heinz says. "For- for everything."

 _Of course,_ you sign. Even if it didn’t end too well, you’re proud of him for facing his backstory. The least you could do is help out. 

You salute and pop open your hang glider to go home. Another job done right, another force of evil thwarted. 

Hey, sometimes Heinz isn’t the real threat. 

There's only one thing still nagging you about today. The way Heinz smiled at you when you were checking him over for injuries, the way you held his gaze a moment too long. The way butterflies rise in your stomach every time you touch down on his balcony. 

This can't end well. You two are _nemeses._

Yet, you can't ignore how _proud_ you are of him. For facing his backstory, today and every day. Forever ago, when you were first assigned to him, you would have laughed in the face of anybody who could be proud of him. But you're proud of him. You are one hundred percent _proud_ of your nemesis. 

Still, having _feelings_ for your nemesis is highly unprofessional. It would be best to _table_ even thinking about it at all. 

**Author's Note:**

> Second person, angst-ish, and a pun- am I sure this isn't just revenblue?
> 
> Oh wait, it's human!Perry. Guess not ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Comments and kudos always appreciated!


End file.
